The Importance of Being a Fan

Being a fan of something or someone is inevitable. It’s an ageless practice. It’s also a cornerstone of the creative world. We all start by imitating our idols, just like children imitate their parents as they learn about the world.

Later on, as we grow as creatives, I believe our sense of curiosity expands, too. It goes beyond imitation and starts inviting introspection.

Ever since I saw this 99u talk by Nishat Akhtar, I’ve been more intentional about asking myself how I discovered or refined my own tastes in anything. It all sparked from the question: “Why do I like what I like?”

At first glance, that question sounds simple. However, it opens intriguing doors. When I look closely at the artists and creators I admire, I spot patterns. They tell me what moves me and what inspires me to create something of my own.

Here are a few examples of how I inspect my own fandoms.

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Liminal Spaces of Creativity

Creativity lives in liminal spaces. It moves through the “in-between” phases, where ideas are transforming and have yet to take a specific form of expression.

Anthropologist Victor Turner, renowned for his work on symbols, rituals, and rites of passage, defined liminality with precision:

A time when identity is fluid, roles are undefined, and a person exists between what they were and what they will become.

In the creative world, liminality can look like automatic writing, doodling, jamming, the first strokes on a canvas, testing lines of code, or a brainstorming session. From these beginnings, a more concrete direction may unfold and eventually lead to a tangible outcome.

But if you pay closer attention to Turner’s definition, there’s a fascinating aspect to explore: identity.

As a creative, you are not only transforming abstract ideas; you’re also being transformed by the process itself. The work is shaping you while you shape it.

That’s what makes creativity so profound. It is not only about bringing something into form, but also about meeting yourself in states of uncertainty, transition, experimentation, and growth.

So, who are you when you don’t see the results you’re expecting? Who are you when nobody is watching your effort behind closed doors?

Those are liminal moments of creative identity. They also appear when you’re standing at crossroads, choosing between one creative direction or another. When you’re caught between what worked in the past and what may work in the future. When you’re sitting in the discomfort of the unknown and still choosing to follow your intuition.

Identity and Liminality Are Continous

Liminal spaces of creativity don’t end with a fully finished product or result. As the public begins to receive your work, new “in-between” phases emerge.

Your book, song, or product is ready for consumption, but the audience is slowly engaging with it. You have shared your voice on an online platform, and somebody has yet to reply.

In that waiting period, when you’re being discovered as an artist, writer, or thought leader, you’re developing resilience. You’re learning to keep trusting yourself even when feedback takes time to reach you.

Not long ago, I came across a post on Threads from a writer who said, “I will keep writing even if nobody reads my words.” That’s a clear statement of identity.

All liminal spaces are nurturing. They’re places where possibilities are born and where you choose your identity as a creative.

Who are you being in each phase of your process?

Back to Basics: Analogue Experiences

I recently posted on Threads the picture above along with a series of thoughts on having a discman. This was a Christmas present.

The last time I played a CD on this type of device was in my university days. I clearly remember listening to Reanimation by Linkin Park. Back then, I didn’t know my ‘analogue’ days were numbered. I would eventually transition to the iPod experience even though I was doing everything in my power to resist.

It happened, and I never looked back. I don’t even know what happened to my old discman.

However, as years went by, I felt the need to go back to what I used to love. I still have a collection of great CD albums. At the same time, I thought this would help me stop doomscrolling on the phone. That it’d be more enriching to read the booklet of my selected album instead.

I must say, it’s uncomfortable. I feel like I could have the music playing in the background while still browsing something on my phone. The pain is real. But I’m intentional about taking a break from the endless noise of the digital world. I want to reconnect with the music and the feelings it evokes in me.

I want to engage with the story each song is telling. Or the story my own feelings create as I immerse it. In my teen years, I used to put on my headphones, push play, and imagine the official music video for the song. I liked pretending I directed it and that I was seeing the final result in my mind.

I want to be able to do that again.

This is the beauty of analogue experiences. It’s you and your imagination plus all the sensations you want to include. All of it guiding you to interpret the melody you’re perceiving.

It’s like creating a time capsule of your feelings, thoughts or things you’re going through in this moment of your life. Isn’t it wonderful to appreciate music this way?

Yes. I could be listening from an iPod with the Wifi turned off. It’s just not the same, though. There’s something about the analogue experience that makes it more meaningful. More intentional. Or at least that’s me.

I keep hearing a strong call to return to the analogue. I keep coming across ideas for hobbies and crafts that involve staying away from the screen. Now I’m starting to answer that call.

Since this specific device is bringing so much satisfaction to my moments of unwind, I’d like to keep collecting CDs. So I’m motivated to visit local stores that sale this kind of format. After all, there’s a lot of us that want to bask in the magic of the analogue.

How about you? What kind of analogue experience are you willing to explore?

 

 

Re-Arrange and Create: Transforming the Pieces You’re Handed

Creative life means re-arranging all the pieces that come your way. Every circumstance, pleasant or challenging, is meant to activate something in you.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about a drawing class I took in junior high school. I remember feeling anxious about “not doing it right”. I had not drawn anything in a long time. I was also worried that the instructor would laugh at my basic skills. Still, I wanted to give it a try and feel as free as I did when I was a child.

One day, he doodled some random lines on blank sheets and handed them to each of us. Then, he said: “Draw something out of this. Let your imagination find the form.”

I thought that was brilliant. There were no rules and no expected outcomes. Just the freedom to deliver something unique.

Even though I doubted my skills, I loved the idea of re-arranging those lines in a way that worked out for me. It was liberating to be the one defining the form. In case you’re curious, this was my end result: a fish swimming in a pond. I wish I would have kept that drawing.

Years later, I still think of that particular exercise. Especially, when adversity shows up in my journey.

Back then, part of me wanted more lines, more shapes…something to make the process easier. It was uncomfortable to “figure it out” on my own. Now I realize what I was doing: resisting the “lack” of elements. Fighting the exercise itself. Once I embraced the challenge, I was able to make progress.

Creative living often asks us to do the same.

At any given point, life hands us unexpected events, detours or blank spaces. It invites us to re-arrange the pieces we’re handed. Some moments are joyful; others, test our resilience. Regardless, we, as creatives, have the power to transform them and turn them into an experience that helps us grow. At our own pace and in our own way.

So when an unforeseen situation arises, pause and ask yourself:

“How can I re-arrange this?”

“What could this be teaching me?”

“What shape wants to emerge from this moment?”

 

The answers may lead you somewhere you never expected. Maybe toward a new skill, a new strength, or a new perspective. Sometimes, the point is to discover more of yourself and more of what you’re capable of doing.

What’s something in your creative life that you can re-arrange today?

The Art of the Minimum Creative Effort

Doing the minimum creative effort on any given day might be the most powerful creative habit you can build.

Life shifts constantly. Schedules change, responsibilities pile up, and some days it’s impossible to give your creative projects your full attention. That’s why the common mantra “make something every day” can backfire.

The phrase suggests that each day should yield a finished product. While initiatives like Inktober, The 100 Day Project, and NanoWriMo encourage commitment, they can also add pressure.

For me, as a writer, my minimum creative effort is simple: sitting at my computer for 30 minutes to write a page of my new novel. Let me tell you: it works. I’ve proven myself that small actions accumulate over time, and repeating this action consistently pays off.

It’s deeply satisfying to know that I’ve touched my project, even briefly. Since I juggle multiple interests, I also assign specific days to different creative pursuits. That way, I rarely get bored. There’s always something new to work or experiment with!

The main take away? There’s power in focusing on minimum creative efforts. Small steps compound into meaningful projects. A single sentence added to your draft keeps your novel alive. A sketch, even a rough one, plants the seed for a larger idea. A note on your business plan keeps momentum flowing. Slow progress is still progress.

Artist Carolyn Yoo, author of the Substack See You, describes her approach like this:

I make lists of the smallest or largest actions I can do in a day to feel like I’ve meaningfully contributed to my creative work, then I’ll estimate the time it takes to do each action and order them by time period.

Carolyn Yoo

 

We don’t create with the same intensity every day, and nor should we. Creativity moves in seasons. Some periods are abundant and high-energy, while others call for rest and gentler effort. It’s natural. The key is to honour those cycles instead of fighting them.

When energy is low, ask yourself:

“What is the minimum I can do today to feel satisfied?”

It might not always involve direct action on your craft. Researching, reading, or simply talking with like-minded creators all count as staying engaged. What matters is connection to the work, not constant completion.

Austin Kleon, a writer who draws, puts it beautifully:

Find the one-armed, half-brained, miniature version of what you do. (…) The answer will be different for everybody. For me, the bare minimum is pretty bare. If I go for a walk, write at least two pages in my diary, and read a few pages of something decent, I can be pretty functional. (…)

Take a little time to figure this out for yourself. Once you know your bare minimum, then you can figure out what you have to do to make it happen.

Austin Kleon

 

So, what about you? What’s your minimum creative effort?

Try defining it today. Whether it’s a single line in your journal, a five-minute sketch, or one not saved on your phone. Then celebrate it. Those little steps carry you further than you think.

Being Seen

There comes a time when you need to share your creations. It all might start as a private endeavour, but eventually, you just know that they need their own space to keep growing.

You might be uncomfortable with the idea of being seen. You might feel like you need more experience or practice. Or even popularity.

Never underestimate the power of showing up a little bit at a time. Whether you show your face or record your own voice, it all compounds to a greater purpose: sharing your unique vision with an audience.

The world needs you.

 

Your Best Hours of the Day

This prompt reminded me of my teen years.

I used to tell my mom that there were specific times when certain moods took place.

  • At 11 am I tended to be aggravated
  • At 1 pm I got hungry
  • At 5 pm I felt at my best and was willing to talk to anyone about anything

My statements made her giggle.

Now that James Clear mentions it, I believe there’s great value in spotting your best hours of the day. Asking yourself whether you’re a morning person or a late night owl is also a good starting point.

So what can we do at those times?

Maybe write a few lines on a journal.

Maybe reply to emails with a more polite tone.

Maybe going out for a walk.

Maybe starting a new book.

Possibilities are infinite. The point is making the most of it in a way that makes you feel you’re exploring your best potential in that very moment.

Do You Know Your Creative Cycles?

What comes to mind when you hear the phrase “know your creative cycles”?

“Cycles” remind me that nature breathes new life in different seasons. Similarly, you follow that pattern when creating anything. There is a specific time for a specific activity.

Every creative discovers their own cycle. If you conduct a quick Google search, you will a variety of perspectives. However, there are some common denominators that involve three major phases:

  • Time to consume information or explore new interests
  • Going on hermit mode and integrating what you consumed
  • Time to create and share (if you’re called to share)

There’s no ‘one size fits all’. Not every cycle is meant for creation. There is no set timeline for each phase of your personal process. Only you determine where you are and when it’s time to move to the next part.

Heck. Your creative cycles might not even sound like the ones listed above.

There might be long periods of contemplation where it looks as if “you’re not doing anything”. As Austin Kleon puts it, “I’m not languishing, I’m dormant”. This stage is as important as any other to create.

It’s a matter of asking yourself: What do I know about my creative cycles?

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Planting Seeds As Creative Process

Planting seeds in the creative process is a major responsibility. It is the core essence of any endeavour that involves creation. Every effort is significant and paramount for further steps.

It’s also an act of faith. It’s believing that a small idea that was born in the abstract can turn into a tangible form for the world to use or experience.

However, the process itself is invisible to your eyes. The seeds you plant today will grow at their own pace and in the darkness. Brian Eno, musician, composer, record producer and visual artist, has an invaluable take:

My kind of composing is more like the work of a gardener. The gardener takes his seeds and scatters them, knowing what he is planting but not quite what will grow, where, and when.

Quote taken from improvisedlife.com

Not knowing is the aspect that causes the most uncertainty. This is the part where it’s tempting to abandon a creation and move on to a different endeavour. It’s difficult to continue when conditions are, at first glance, discouraging.

While the seeds metaphor is subject to multiple interpretations, the common denominator is to remind the gardener or the creator that growth will take place sooner or later. Every little step compounds to a result, and the waiting process can be satisfying and joyful.

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